


Just Add Water

by Bettername



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos' humanity is questionable, Cecil is Mostly Human, M/M, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Water at the Waterfront
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bettername/pseuds/Bettername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night while listening to Cecil's program Carlos learns of a new lake that has appeared out by the Waterfront. Given that he is a scientist brimming with scientific curiosity he decides to visit said lake. His trip the following day has unforeseen consequences.</p>
<p>aka. Carlos isn't as human as he thinks he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Add Water

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for two reasons. Number one, my brain refused the fact that there was no water at the waterfront and demanded that that be remedied. Number two, I have read a multitude of fics where Cecil is not quite human, however I haven't seen many fics where Carlos' humanity is drawn into question. He's survived a year in Night Vale... need I say more?

He spent the past year and a half perfecting the art of writing with quills after an intense back and forth debate about the legality of their usage with a member of the secret police via the condensation that appeared on his bathroom mirror randomly throughout the day. Carlos insisted that since the quills were made from the primary flight feathers of dead turkeys that were conveniently dropped on and around the laboratory by the glow cloud, that it was a sign from an unknowable and omnipotent god that his choice of an alternative for the banned pens and pencils was A-Okay. He was joking, the secret police were not. The following day he found each of his quills stamped with Approved by the Secret Police in red ink and neatly arranged in his bathtub in a circular fashion. In his living room he found _Oh good, we’re glad that you got the message_ scrawled out on the wall just above his futon in black ooze. 

His calligraphy has improved by leaps and bounds in the time since Carlos discovered that the unidentifiable black substance on his wall did not contain any elements known to mankind. The art form lends his half formed bits of thought, erratic scribbles, and occasional mildly scientific musings a certain air of credibility beyond being those little fiddly bits he just has to write down. This isn’t even taking into account his fully thought out rambles about his latest scientific query, those look downright distinguished. He’s in the middle of transcribing one such document onto his computer when a segment on the radio catches his attention.

_“Breaking news today dear listeners, a lake appeared overnight near the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area. Yes our own humble desert hamlet has been graced with the sudden appearance of a body of water. I have not yet had the pleasure of visiting the lake, but I relish the opportunity to gaze upon its sublime placid surface and dip my toes in its cool refreshing waters. The Night Vale business association would like to inform you that boat rentals are half off for this historic occasion. Come on down and enjoy a stroll along the boardwalk. And now a word from our sponsors…”_

Carlos is not surprised at Cecil’s lack of surprise at this new development or of his own for that matter. This is Night Vale after all. Instead of staring at the radio with wide-eyed astonishment as he had done for nearly every scrap of new he heard during his first few months at Night Vale while his colleagues muttered variations of ‘oh mother of god I wonder if this is what kills us all’, he finishes typing out his report while a couple of the remaining scientists lurk around the coffee maker waiting out the few minutes until eight o’ clock when it would be legal once again. The thoughts that percolate in his mind as he checks for typos center on the location of his dredging equipment so he can collect both sediment and water samples to test from the lake. He saves the report when he’s satisfied and spends the short jaunt to the coffee maker musing over whether or not Cecil would enjoy a picnic by the lake. If Cecil would, then he needs to call him soon to make plans for the fast approaching weekend since no one knows how long the lake would be sticking around for, and if someone does then they wouldn’t be likely to share that information anyway.

The next day Carlos loads the trunk of his car to the brim with equipment and sets off to the lake alone. None of his fellow colleagues are interested in joining him, due to being engrossed in their own work and quote ‘not wanting to die by the cold slimy tentacles of an unspeakable horror’ end quote. The lab interns are especially wary of anything new, mildly exciting, or particularly banal for all of those could spell their most certain death, disappearance, or dismemberment, which peculiarly enough does not always result in death. Carlos believes that the lab interns have every right to be cautious given that interns in general do not seem to last long in Night Vale no matter where they are employed. 

He pulls into the Waterfront Recreation Area parking lot and lingers in the relative safety of his car as he takes in the sight before him. The lake is not a lake. Or it doesn’t seem so at first. What lies before him confined only by the gentle rolling contours of the desert basin is a mirror that reflects the void. The still waters are vast and dark and seem to stretch to the distant horizon. Carlos being the practical man that he is tamps down the part of his brain that decides that this is a splendid time to unearth memories of ancient Greek texts that he read in high school English class. He is not Odysseus. The body of water that has spontaneously appeared overnight is not a siren, though he would not rule out the possibility that it might be home to one. And his car is not a metaphorical mast that he needs to lash himself to for protection against his all but assured doom. He notes the hypnotic pull of the dark water and the feeling welling up inside of him that can best be described as an intense longing for a home that he has never lived in. He considers that the lake might possess properties similar to the Whispering Forest and throws in several sets of latex gloves into his bag of equipment for good measure.

Carlos finishes gathering up his equipment and rents a small aluminum fishing boat at the docks. He loads his equipment into the boat and rows out to his first sampling site without incident. No encounters with the horrors of the deep so far. At his first site he collects five two hundred milliliter canisters of water, seals and labels them with the appropriate series and sampling site number. He examines the fifth sample before placing it in the Styrofoam cooler. The water is black and opaque, blocking all light from passing through the clear plastic container. Black water is not necessarily an indicator of supernatural activity, just a result of an unusual high concentration of fulvic and humic acids along with corresponding trace minerals. He finishes collecting sediment samples for the site before moving on to the others.

The sun is hanging low in the sky by the time Carlos wraps up the last of his sampling. He checks his watch. He missed Cecil’s program which is odd given that he had started in the morning. He had conducted similar sampling procedures at other lakes while assisting a fellow PhD candidate with their thesis research, those collections did not take up the entire day. However, they did have a small army of undergraduates to assist with the sampling, which made for a world of difference in the matters of time management and joint pain.

Carlos gives into the loud and clear message that his body is all but screaming at him as he shuts the lid of his stuffed trunk. He is not to pass go or to collect two hundred dollars. Dragging his equipment and considerable amount of samples back to his car from the dock had been the final nail in his coffin. His muscles burn from overexertion, his joints ache, and his back is in a full out revolt because a man sitting on the fence between his mid and late thirties should not collect dozens of sediment samples from a seemingly bottomless lake by himself. He curses the young interns safe in their apartments as he drives off to his own. He decides that the samples and equipment can survive staying in his car overnight. Carlos is a man on a mission for much needed sustenance, painkillers, and sleep. 

When he arrives home he makes a beeline for his bathroom, dropping his well-worn leather bag stuffed full of notebooks, papers, quills, and other assorted sundries needed for the day on the floor and toes his shoes off along the way. He fishes out a few pills from a bottle in the medicine cabinet, chews them, and swallows them dry. It’s one of the few things that he knows he shouldn’t do but does anyways. He stares at his empty tub as he contemplates his life choices and how the seemingly unrelated convoluted series of events that plagued him with that habit eventually led him to standing in a bathroom staring at a tub contemplating those same events. He chews another pill as he turns on the water for the tub reveling in the ability to be spontaneous and toss aside long held routines. He’s going to take a bath, not a shower, and in the middle of the night.

Carlos strips with a smirk on his face smug with satisfaction. He groans as he lowers himself in and stretches out as far as the tub allows him, submerging as much of his tired body as possible until only his head remains dry. He rests it against the cool porcelain as the hot water soothes away the ache of his muscles, the pain in his joints, and the terrible dryness of his skin. Carlos is in utter bliss. He wonders why he preferred the expediency of showers over the miracles of baths as he drifts off guided by low consonant laden chanting emanating from his neighbor’s apartment. He hopes that they are chanting for rain. He always liked rain. 

He rouses from his peaceful watery slumber when he feels something brush up against his leg. Carlos cracks an eye open the thinnest of possible slivers and immediately jolts upright in the tub. The water he’s soaking in has turned as black as the water from the lake. He yanks his arm out of his water. His shrieks wake everyone in the apartment building. 

_Ring. Ring. Ring. Click._

“Hello?” the voice is thick and groggy from sleep. 

“Cecil. Cecil. I am calling for personal reasons,” he whispers fervently into the receiver as he clutches it tightly in his hands. 

“Carlos?”

“Cecil this is important. I know that it is late but I need you to come to my apartment. Immediately.” 

_Click._

Cecil shuffles through the front door a few minutes later clad in a rumpled old t-shirt he ‘borrowed’ from Carlos weeks ago and pajama pants adorned with kittens. His hair is mussed. The eye on his forehead blinks out of synch with the other two on his face. The eyes nestled among the tattooed tendrils on his forearms however are wide open, each focusing on Carlos with rapt attention as he sprints into the living room. Carlos looks like a man possessed. His chest is heaving, his perfect hair is disheveled, his eyes are wide and blood shot, and his lab coat is hastily buttoned.

“Cecil. Good, I have to show you something.” 

Cecil stares at him for a moment before asking, “Carlos are you only wearing a lab coat?” He takes a few tentative steps closer to the man whose bare hairy legs are quite visible.

“Just stay,” Carlos holds up a hand, “right there.” He bolts to the bathroom and returns with the spray bottle he uses to mist his cacti filled with water from the tub. He holds the spray bottle in the crook of his arm and starts to roll up the sleeve of the other as he rambles. “I listened to your show yesterday and I heard about the lake spontaneously appearing overnight so I decided to investigate it. I can’t just leave things not investigated. I’m a scientist I had to go, for science. So I went this morning to take samples for testing and when I got there I discovered that the lake was black. The water was black, which is not that unusual, it could be due to a high concentration of fluvic and humic acids and associated minerals that form when … That’s not important.” He stops frantically rolling up his sleeve and takes a deep breath. Carlos looks Cecil in the eye as he attempts to regain his composure. “What is important,” he swallows forcing himself to slow down. “Is that I lost time, and not in the normal way for Night Vale.” He pauses and holds his exposed arm out. Three thick black lines peek out from underneath the rolled up sleeve and extend midway down his forearm. “I lost time at the lake and I think that something happened to me.” 

“Oh Carlos,” Cecil whispers concerned as Carlos levels the spray bottle at the lines on his arm. He grits his teeth and turns his head as he pulls the trigger. A few spritzes later the dark lines slowly peel off the surface of his skin moving with the grace of a charmed snake. All the tension leaves Cecil with an exasperated sigh. “Carlos you had me worried,” he chides.

“Don’t you see,” Carlos jabs a finger towards the black swaying tentacles,” This?” 

“Yes Carlos, I see it just fine,” Cecil huffs and folds his arms. The eye on his forehead narrows to a slit along with those on his arms. Carlos stares at him in shock. “What, you’ve never manifested before?” 

“Manifested?” He squeaks. 

“Carlos, you’re not from around here,” Cecil exclaims, throws his hands over his mouth, walks around the coffee table and plunks himself down on the futon. All of his eyes stare up at Carlos in horror for a moment until Cecil lets his arms fall loosely onto his legs. He glances down to the carpet before returning to Carlos with a quizzical look. “People are who they are in Night Vale.” He pauses. “They might grow new appendages but they never turn into something that they are not already.” 

“What about the trees in the Whispering Forest? Or the oil slicks in the car lot? Or the…”

“So I wasn’t specific enough,” Cecil cuts him off. “How do I put this?” Carlos closes his mouth and waits while Cecil chews at his bottom lip as he collects his thoughts. “Carlos,” his voice is low and quiet. “People do not become pan-dimensional beings, they either are born as one or not.”

“Pan-dimensional,” Carlos murmurs as he digs his toes into the carpet. He glances back up to Cecil. “They can’t?” Cecil slowly shakes his head in response. “Do you have empirical evidence of this?”

“My dear sweet Carlos, I am one. Well, one sixteenth but the percentage doesn’t matter as much as the person.” Carlos trudges over to the futon and sits down beside him with a heavy sigh. Cecil takes Carlos’ hand in his. “Someone can be a descendant of the Old Ones and just not show it. Usually that sort of thing is figured out before their coming of age ceremony. But that doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you. You’re just so practical, and scientific, and…” 

“I need to make a phone call,” Carlos croaks.

_One phone call later…_

“So this,” he motions to his exposed arm as he paces in front of the coffee table, “runs in the family. Both sides in fact.” Carlos chuckles. “My mother and father have it,” he looks down at a tentacle which swivels to face him, “in their family histories. My mother attributes that to her and my father meeting in the first place and falling in love. She said that people like us are drawn to each other.” Cecil smiles at him hopefully as Carlos continues frantically walking back and forth across the living room babbling. “They never told me because I wasn’t fond of water as a child. My mother said that her grandfather always complained about how dry things were here. He loved the water, spent as much time as he could in it. They thought that they had dodged the mythical bullet,” he cackles. “Neither of them showed symptoms, so they thought I wouldn’t as well.” He pauses. “Going to the lake must have triggered it somehow. Or maybe something else did,” he mutters.

“Symptoms? Triggered?” Cecil traces the tattoos on his arm. “It’s not a disease,” he mumbles. “I’m not sick and neither are you.” Carlos stops dead in his tracks and turns to Cecil who had pulled his knees up underneath his chin and wrapped his arms around them.

“Shit. Cecil…” He walks over and sits down beside him. “Cecil, I’m an idiot.” Carlos places a chaste kiss right below his scalp being careful of his eye. “You have me on such a high pillar that I know I don’t belong on. The words perfect and wonderful describe you so much better than me. I,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t be this freaked out about it. I’ve seen you. I know you. You have tattoos of eyes which are actual eyes attached to eyestalks. You have a third eye on your forehead that you don’t show to just anyone. Your teeth elongate and sharpen at the mere hint of you-know-who. And I feel myself being pulled deeper and deeper into some great unknown whenever I hear you speak.” He pauses. “Cecil I wouldn’t change anything about you. And you’re one, so I guess I’m saying that it can’t be all that bad. It’s just a lot for me to adjust to.” 

Cecil sniffles. “You mean it? You think I’m perfect?” 

“I think you’re neat.” 

Cecil beams. “Oh Carlos you’re…” he yawns, “tremendous.” He curls up against Carlos. “And remarkably comfortable.” 

“I’m taking comfortable is a positive descriptor.”

“Mhmmm…wonderful.”

Carlos silently watches as the tentacles on his arm manifest and start rubbing Cecil’s back. He focuses and gets them to rub circles over the knots in Cecil’s shoulders formed from countless hours spent over his sound board and curled around his microphone. Carlos finds his apprehension dissipating and being replaced with a burning curiosity. His shoulder feels damp. Carlos glances down, Cecil is drooling. Scientific inquiry can wait for another day. Now it’s time for some much needed sleep.


	2. A Dash of  Existential Crisis

The sun doesn’t care that the man desperately smashing his face into a pillow in a vain attempt to escape its scathing radiance was unceremoniously woken up just a few hours prior to the fact that he is not as human as he believed for his past thirty odd years of existence. The sun is a multilayered ball of hydrogen, helium, and other trace gases undergoing nuclear fusion. It could care less that the man, who happens to be a human/ pan-dimensional hybrid, lost sleep due to an existential crisis and forgot to close the blinds before crawling into bed with his boyfriend. When the sun rises it rises and neither Night Vale’s inherent strangeness nor Carlos’ wishful thinking will stop it. Resistance is futile.

Carlos smacks his head against the lumpy pillow in defeat before maneuvering onto his back. No mere mortal, pan-dimensional or otherwise, can defeat the sun, because it’s well the sun. But that doesn’t mean that he has to like it. Carlos rubs the sleep from his eyes and wills them to open. He sees the crack in the plaster above his bed that turned out to be just a crack in the plaster and not a crack in time and space after thorough testing, and then rolls his head to the left and finds Cecil propped up on one arm watching him. He drags himself up into sitting position at the speed glaciers recede due to global warming and notices that Cecil’s eyes have widened in surprise. All of Cecil’s eyes. Carlos stares at him perplexed for a moment because Cecil has seen him naked before. Despite a slew of awkward dates, a few miscommunications, and several near death experiences, they have engaged in sexual congress, multiple times in fact much to their mutual satisfaction. Cecil has intimate knowledge of him. Carlos has even given him a set of keys to his lab; the lab interns don’t even have their own sets of keys. So his naked torso should not be as enthralling as Cecil’s excessive attention is making it seem. 

“Cecil?”

“Huh?” His attention has not wavered in the slightest. Carlos decides that Cecil’s level of fixation warrants investigation. 

“I stash pens and other banned writing implements in terra cotta pots. I don’t care for cacti; I only planted them as camouflage.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I have a loaf of whole wheat bread underneath the bed.”

“That’s nice.” 

Carlos leans forwards and whispers, “I once ran up to the fence at the Dog Park and touched it just because I could.”

“Ohhh, okay.” He mentioned the dog park and that did not get a reaction. This is more serious than he previously thought; time to bring out the big guns.

“I walked up to the city council on Tuesday and told them that their mother was a hamster and their father smelt of elderberries.”

“Uhuh.”

“And if they didn’t give me the permits I requested that I would taunt them a second time.” Still nothing. “You don’t watch Monty Python do you?” Carlos rubs the back of his neck. “I think I have Search for the Holy Grail hidden somewhere. We’ll have to go on a quest to find it.” His grin fades away when he doesn’t get a response. “We’re going to go on a quest to find a movie about knights that go on a quest.” He can almost hear the crickets. “Tough crowd,” he mutters. 

“Carlos look down.” He follows Cecil’s line of sight.

“Oh. Wow. Huh.” The thick black lines are no longer isolated to one arm. They are everywhere. Carlos twists and looks over his shoulder. He inspects his back for a moment before turning around and lifting the covers to get a peek at his lower torso and limbs. He lowers the covers, hesitates, and lifts them up once more for a second look. “Well then.” The lines have a similar quality to Cecil’s tattoos with few marked differences. Carlos’ are black as opposed to Cecil’s dark plum. They are much wider and rapidly taper towards the end lending tentacles a more apt descriptor than tendrils. He also notices that the skin in the tattooed regions still contains follicles complete with hair. Only when the tentacles are awaken do they take on a smooth seemingly uniform and blemish free surface and are prone to quickly drying out leaving said portion of skin irritated.  
“Carlos if you don’t like how they are arranged you can change it.” Carlos breaks from inspecting a rapidly drying tentacle on his arm and looks up to his boyfriend. It rejoins his skin the moment the focus of his attention switches. 

“It’s possible to alter the arrangement?” 

“They’re more of a visible symbol of your true form. You can change almost anything that you want about them. In fact you don’t even have to show them if you don’t want to. It’s a personal choice. And I’ll accept whatever your choice might be because you’re perfect to me no matter what you choose as your outer physical appearance. So will the town and secret police once you fill out the appropriate forms of course.” Carlos slowly blinks. “Carlos?”

“My true form?”

“Oh Carlos, you didn’t think that this is what you actually look like do you? I mean, come on. We didn’t earn the name eldritch abominations from our lack of social skills and cooking abilities,” Cecil chuckles. 

“Abominations?”

“Umm.” Cecil nibbles on his bottom lip. “I probably could have explained that better.” 

“Then what’s this?” Carlos motions to himself.

“If I told you the truth that that was more like a meat suit that you’re just very attached to, it would probably freak you out.” Cecil snaps his mouth shut as Carlos lowers his head into his palms. “Ha. Um. Oops?” Carlos lets himself flop back onto the bed. “There’s this really great class at the civic center that explains all of this. They meet bimonthly. Tentacles and you; the guide to surviving and thriving life as a minor god.” Cecil scoots closer to the man lying on the bed. “I could sign you up for it.” Eventually Carlos removes his hands and opens his eyes. Cecil is worrying at his lip with fervent abandonment. 

“You are trying.” Carlos sighs. “It’s just…”

“A lot to process,” Cecil finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Well I know what will make you feel better.” Cecil wiggles off the bed. “A shower. There is nothing quite like feeling fresh and clean at the start of the day. Well, except for a fulfilling chanting session at the nearest bloodstone circle or a good long scream at the unfathomable void.” Carlos sits up as Cecil starts to peel off his baggy t-shirt before wandering out of the bedroom. “Its water conservation awareness week next week and I’ve been thinking about some tips,” he calls from the hallway. Carlos spends a few moments deliberating before he eases himself out of bed, throws on one of his ubiquitous lab coats, and pads off after Cecil. “What do you think of this one? Reuse water for all ritualistic cleansings. Just bless the water in a sacred ox hide vessel between washes.” Carlos pauses to pick up Cecil’s pajama bottoms. “Or obtain an enchantment from Old Woman Josie out by the car lot to turn your vehicle into a chinchilla so that it can clean itself with a dust bath.” He walks a few more steps and finds Cecil’s boxers on the threshold to the bathroom. The door is shut. “But I think that this next one would apply to you since you’re absolutely in need of a thorough scrub. Save water where you can and shower with a friend.”

“Cecil I’m not…” The door opens. Carlos shuts his mouth and takes a moment to admire the view.

“Yes Carlos?” Carlos gulps. He can feel his tattoos shiver. 

“I am absolutely filthy.” 

“Good. Then you should join me.” Cecil spins on the balls of his feet and saunters over to the tub. Carlos follows stripping off his lab coat and throwing it into the pile of discarded clothes. He steps into the tub after Cecil and leans against the cool tile while he watches his boyfriend adjust the water temperature. Cecil finds the elusive middle ground between deep ocean thermal vents and Lake Vostok and cranks the water up to full blast. The moan that Carlos emits when the spray hits him is near pornographic. Either this water isn’t water in the strictest sense of the word or the feelings delivery service just dropped off a crate full of sheer bliss.

“You… you…um…yeah,” Cecil stammers out as he watches Carlos do a full body stretch and creep closer to the shower head letting the warm soothing water cascade down his exposed skin coaxing his tattoos to manifest and uncoil from his limbs. Carlos pushes the wet hair out from in front of his face with one hand and sees Cecil staring at him with a faint purple blush. 

“Cecil you should come closer the water is wondrous,” he purrs. Cecil darkens to the shade of his favorite jerkin. “Actually there is something quite wrong with the water. It shouldn’t be having the effect that it is, but I can’t seem to bring myself to care,” he chuckles and closes his eyes deciding to bask in the water and not worry about the feeling it’s giving him. Cecil steps closer to him and tentatively reaches out to stroke one of the tentacles unfurling from Carlos’ arm. He hums happily as Cecil inches towards him tracing the appendage back to its source. Carlos feels Cecil shiver but he isn’t touching him. Not that he doesn’t want to touch Cecil, he does emphatically. It’s just that he isn’t touching him right this very moment. His hands are at his sides. If his hands are at his sides then how can he feel Cecil shiver? Carlos opens his eyes and then he panics.

“Dios mío!,” he shrieks and jumps back smacking the back of his head against the tiled wall. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He winces as he gingerly touches where he hit the wall before he looks back up and the focus of his attention shifts dramatically. He’s unwound like a spool of thick black rope. “What the fuck. Cecil!” Cecil wades through the mass of tentacles to his boyfriend.

“Carlos.” He puts a hand on either side of Carlos’ head and forces him to look him in the eyes. “Carlos calm down. You are fine. I am fine. You are partially manifesting. All we have to do is fill out some paperwork and everything will be fine.”

“This is normal?”

“No it isn’t,” Cecil says offhand. “Usually you would fill out the paperwork seven days in advanced and have it notarized at city hall before a partial manifestation, thirteen days in advanced for a full.”

“Cecil?”

“But don’t worry Carlos, there’s a clause in the town charter that allows for the paperwork to be filed after the fact. We have forty two hours to get the appropriate forms filled out, signed, notarized, and filed. We will be just fine. Okay?” Cecil stares at him until Carlos gives a weak nod.

“Okay. I’m okay.” He sighs and looks at the black mass of tentacles surrounding him and Cecil. “So this is a partial manifestation. Huh.” He watches a tentacles extending from his shoulder curl towards him. 

“It’s surprisingly not that bad.” Cecil grins and pecks him on the lips. Carlos runs his fingers through his soaked hair and giggles nervously as he surveys the full extent of himself.

“Yeah. Not bad. It’s not that bad.” He pauses and looks back to Cecil. “Cecil we’ve known each other for some time. It’s just that, well how should I put it, I’ve never seen you manifest. At all. Ever. And you’re the over sharing type.” Cecil smirks and leans into close to Carlos.

“Carlos my perfect Carlos I’m manifesting at this very moment”, Cecil whispers into his ear. “I might be the voice of Night Vale but I have eyes all over this city, more in fact than the secret police. It’s a sore spot for them.” 

“All the better to report on you my dear,” Carlos murmurs. 

“Exactly.” Cecil doesn’t see the problem with that. Of course Cecil doesn’t see the problem he grew up in Night Vale. Carlos closes his eyes and reminds himself that panicking will get him nowhere and that he shouldn’t get Cecil a copy of 1984 as a birthday present. Or maybe he should. This new piece of information about Cecil does fill in quite a few gaps that have accumulated over the course of their relationship and from before they met. He opens his eyes and finds Cecil watching him his concern evident from his expression.

“Carlos are you alright? The water’s getting cold. We should probably get out.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Carlos says it because he means it. As strange as the town is it has an inexplicable draw just like the man/ pan-dimensional being standing in front of him. “Sorry things didn’t quite turn out the way that you wanted.” He leans in a kisses Cecil above his closed third eye. 

“My wonderful sweet Carlos, I spent it with you and that’s what’s important.” Cecil slips out from the thicket of still materialized tentacles and onto the bathmat to dry off as Carlos reaches behind him and turns off the water. His tentacles are still present. This might be a problem.

“Cecil how do I get them to stop manifesting?” 

“Just think of them returning to your body,” Cecil yells from the hall.

“This might take a while.”


	3. And a Sprinkle of Foolish Mortals

“Carlos I’m leaving for work. Caaarrrrloooos.” He hears footsteps coming from the hallway. Cecil pops his head into the bathroom and finds a still wet and naked Carlos standing triumphantly on the bathmat sans tentacles.

“Never doubt a man of science,” he says victoriously. Cecil chuckles and slinks up to him. He leaves a teasing kiss on his still damp lips before pulling back.

“I will never doubt you my dear sweet Carlos however I really do must leave otherwise I’ll have to run by the Ralph’s to buy badger meat on my break to appease station management.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “Badger meat?”

“Five minutes late badger meat. Ten minutes late a leg of ewe. Fifteen minutes and I’ll own them a rear quarter of a bison. Anything over fifteen and it’s an automatic hunting trip for mountain goat.”

“But you don’t believe in mountains?”

“That’s why I’m never fifteen minutes late. I can’t feed what doesn’t exist to station management.” He glances down to his watch. “And a quarter of bison it is. I’ll talk to you at lunch.” He gives Carlos a quick peck on the cheek and leaves. 

Carlos looks around the empty bathroom and sighs. “I should probably get clothes on or something.” He absently runs his fingers through his wet curls. “Yeah I’ll go do that.”

 

He’s halfway through cracking open the carapace of a three meter long fire breathing ant at the lab when his phone starts vibrating. He sets his tools down and wipes the haemolymph off his arms and hands with a nearby towel before picking up his phone. 

“Hello Cecil,” he glances up at the clock on the wall and smiles, “you couldn’t quite make it to lunch could you?”

“Actually my perfectly radiant Carlos I am not calling for personal reasons. I’ve always wanted to say that,” he gushes before pausing to clear his throat and compose himself. “Anyways I am calling you because of the recent fire ant outbreak. I’ve been getting numerous callers saying that disabling the antenna causes the ants to go into a frenzy and attack other ants as well as those who could not flee in time and were then subjugated by their fiery yet ill- deserved wrath. I thought that you might find that useful.” 

“Their antenna you say? That does give us a good place to start investigating a way to stop them before they get too out of control.”

“Really? Oh good. Wonderful. I thought that that might help. Oh and also I got a report from John Peters you know, the farmer that he thinks he saw what looks like a colony of fire ants out in the sand wastes. I’m thinking about taking an intern out with me and checking on it.” 

“Cecil that’s a bad idea. I cannot advise you strongly enough against going to check out a possible fire ant colony. The secret police have a difficult enough time stopping the few that wander into town. The last place that you or anyone should be is in an area swarming with fire breathing ants that seem immune to anything smaller than a combat shotgun.” 

“Carlos you don’t understand. I have to go. I am a reporter. If something is happening I have to report on it even if it means me risking life and limb. And besides, it’s just a few fire ants. They can’t be that bad.” 

Carlos closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Cecil if you’re going to do something that ill- advised,” he sighs, “wait until I show up at least.” He is sure that the rest of the lab can hear the squeal on the other end of the phone. “I’m sure that I can scrounge up a few fire resistant suits and maybe a shovel or something.” 

“Egbert has already volunteered the use of his AR-15.” 

“Egbert?”

“The secret police officer that’s usually stationed in the rhododendron bush outside of my apartment building. He switched shifts with English. He’s the one that usually watches over the station.”

“Ah. Well then, where should I meet you?” 

“Do you know where the Saguaro that Cactus June used to live in is?” 

“No, I don’t know off the top of my head.” 

“Well you can just ask Strider for directions.”

“Strider?” 

“Look for an officer with a katana around your lab. He’s usually lurking on the roof.” 

“I know that I haven’t lived here that long, but how do you know the names of all of the secret police officers?” 

Cecil chuckles. “It’s because I go to the ‘Get to know your local secret police officer’ meetings. You should really come to one.”

Carlos stops himself before he asks ‘but don’t public meetings about the secret police defeat the purpose of them being secret?’ Instead he replies with, “Okay I’ll meet you at the cactus. I’ll give you a call when I get there.” 

“Carlos I will be shivering with antici-,” he takes a dramatic pause, “pation for your arrival.” 

“Try to stay out of trouble Cecil.” 

“I make no promises only predictions of a foreboding future were our past decisions are of little consequence in comparison to those we have yet to make.” 

Carlos is filled with a sense of creeping dread as he says his goodbyes to Cecil before hanging up the phone. The faint Strexcorp logo that he finds etched onto the carapace of the fire ant awaiting dissection on the table only heightens his growing unease. 

“Time to find an officer with a katana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww yiss fire ants. Shameless Fallout 3 reference.


	4. To Get the Wrath of an Angry God

“He said to take a left at the stupid rock and continue for 42 meters.” He looks down at the triangular shaped boulder. “How do I know if a rock has limited intelligence? Do I judge it by human standards or by rock standards?” The great grey stone shudders.

“Global warming doesn’t exist,” the rock exclaims. “The earth is flat. Trees cause more air pollution than automobiles. The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians.” 

Carlos slowly shakes his head and starts walking back to his car. “I think I found the right rock.” It shouts ‘the only way to reduce the number of nuclear weapons is to use them’ as he closes his car door and drives off. A few minutes later he parks near a substantial Saguaro cactus complete with floral patterned curtains. 

“Cecil? Cecil?” He wanders around to the back of the cactus and discovers a grisly sight, a dead intern impaled on the spines of the ancient Saguaro. The blood spreading out on his clothing like a hundred blooming flowers is still fresh. Carlos is a man of science not religion but it does not stop him from making the sign of the cross before the unfortunate intern before he pulls out his phone. “Please be ok, please be ok,” he chants as he dials Cecil’s number. 

His heart stops when he hears Cecil’s ringtone. He sprints to the source of the sound only to see the doors of a red helicopter slam shut before it lifts off the ground. Murals of birds of prey are painted on the sides.

“Oh God no.” Carlos snatches the phone lying on the ground and breaks into a full out run back to his car. He cranks it on and speeds after the helicopter through the sand wastes haphazardly clipping a few fire ants in the process. He doesn’t know where the helicopter is going, but if it continues on its current trajectory he knows what it will pass over. He pulls Cecil’s phone out of his pocket, flips through the contacts, and hits call when he finds the one he’s looking for.

“Egbert?” 

“This is the private number of a member of the Night Vale Sherriff’s Secret Police…”

“Egbert this is Carlos the Scientist,” he cuts the officer off. “Cecil’s been kidnapped.” 

“Cecil? Cecil’s been kidnapped?” the officer shrieks.

“I saw a helicopter with hawks painted on it take off from the abduction site.”

“Hawks? Oh this is bad, this is very bad,” Egbert mutters worriedly. 

“Egbert I’m following the helicopter as we speak. I think I know where they are heading. I need you to get me something.”

“Anything, anything that you need Mr. Scientist just say it.”

“I need an emergency pan-dimensional full manifestation form.” There’s silence on the other end of the line. “Can you get that for me Egbert?”

“I,” he hesitates, “I think I can. Where should I drop it off?” A great black expanse appears in the distance.

“The Lake.” 

Carlos hangs up and tosses the phone onto the passenger seat as he presses the pedal down to the floor mat. Now is not the time to panic. It’s time to get angry. His car rockets up the ramp leading to the boardwalk from the parking lot and launches his economical hybrid into the lake. The unholy shrieking of metal being torn to shreds fills the air. The desert trembles. The black waters froth. A guard at the Waterfront steps out of his booth just in time to watch a multitude of great black tentacles shoot up from the water and ensnare the helicopter passing overhead. A limb wrenches off the main rotor blade and mast. Another encircles the tail boom breaking off the tail rotor with a flick of the tip. The tentacles snake around the disabled craft further engulfing it in its embrace. The creature drags the helicopter into the watery depths. It reminds the guard of the story of a Kraken taking sailors’ to their watery fate that he read as a young boy. 

For a few moments all is silent. 

The calm is broken by a naked man dragging something in a silvery net out of the lake. The guard rushes down to the bank and sees the man frantically ripping the net apart. The metal threads cut into his skin and sears his flesh creating wisps of smoke. He gently frees the net from around the person caught inside. The freed man has only a few burns on his skin, but his eyes are closed. 

“Cecil please be ok. I need you to be ok,” the man on his knees beside the other begs. Cecil opens his eyes and slowly blinks.

“Carlos. You came.”

“Oh thank god. Are you alright? Can you move? Are you in any pain?” 

Cecil chuckles as he strokes Carlos’ arm. “You’re praying to yourself.” 

“What? You could see me?”

“I didn’t need to see you Carlos. I felt you.” 

“Umm not to interrupt your touching reunion here but um it looks like some of the fellas in the helicopter are trying to get away.” The guard points to a few people clinging to floating wreckage. “Do you want me to call the police or…”

“Thanks but I’ll handle it,” Carlos replies.

“Oh uh okay. Um what are you going to do exactly?” 

Carlos stands up after checking Cecil over. “I’m going to smite some mortals,” he growls and stalks off back into the lake. The guard swears that he sees that the man’s mouth is filled with ink his teeth like white military gravestones replaced by a thicket of fangs but the guard says nothing as the man enters the water. The surface of the lake ripples and then pulses. A gargantuan maw rises up around the wreckage of the helicopter. 

“The all- consuming,” Cecil whispers in awe as tentacles grab those who try to swim away in vain and throw them back into the gaping mouth. It shuts like a steel trap. The screaming doesn’t stop until after the creature submerges. A secret police officer comes running up to the bank waving a stack of papers in one hand.

“I got the paperwork.” He skids to a stop. “Shit. Fuck. He wasn’t kidding when he said he needed a full manifestation form.” The officer thrusts out the massive amount of paperwork out to Carlos as he emerges from the water. Carlos stares at him and then looks down at the pile of papers. “I’ll just wait till you get dried off and clothed, Mr. Scientist sir.” 

“I am naked,” Carlos states when he gets a look at himself. “I have a spare lab coat in my car which I think is at the bottom of the lake,” he trails off. Carlos glances over to Cecil, to the guard, to the officer, to the lake, to himself, and then back over to Cecil. “I think ate a helicopter and a few people,” he grimaces. “I’m fairly certain that they were from Strexcorp so I don’t feel that bad about it. But still the whole cannibalism thing. I didn’t even have a bottle of Chianti to go with.”

Cecil saunters up to Carlos. “My magnificent wondrous Carlos,” he purrs. “You smote people for me after you hunted them down.” He slowly runs his hands over his wet bare chest. “I’ve never had someone smote another with their righteous fury on my behalf, but you did. And you did an outstanding job if I might say so myself.” Cecil inches closer to Carlos and wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s back. He leans in and whispers into Carlos’ ear. “I want to feel you in all nine dimensions.”

Carlos pulls back. “Did you say nine dimensions? If nine dimensions do exist then that means that string theory could be more than just a theory.” Cecil is staring at him. “For those not familiar with string theory it states that all matter is composed of tiny strings that vibrate in…” 

“Carlos don’t get distracted by science, we’re going to fuck.” 

“In all nine dimensions?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Carlos turns to the officer. “Egbert can we have a second set of full manifestation forms?”

“For Mr. Baldwin?” 

“Yes please and a public performance of coitus form as well,” Cecil adds. 

“Can do. Just keep it in the lake and under three hours and we won’t have a problem with a rip in the time space continuum.” 

“We’ll do our best officer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tree quote is from Pres. Ronald Regan. Feminism quote from Pat Robertson. Nuclear weapons quote from Rush Limbaugh.
> 
> Carlos is both a BAMF and a dork. I hope that you liked this incredibly self indulgent fic. Inhuman!Carlos is one of my favorite subjects to write about for WTNV and I've crammed in enough references to keep me satiated until the next one. If you want to talk about Inhuman!Carlos or WTNV in general hit me up at bettername.tumblr.com. 
> 
> Cheers.


End file.
